Τζακ Κέρουακ – Ρεμπώ | Σε μετάφραση: Ρογήρου Δέξτερ

Jack Kerouac

                          “Rimbaud”

Arthur!
         On t’ appela pas Jean!
Born in 1854 cursing in Charle-
   ville thus paving the way for
the abominable murderousnesses
of Ardennes – No wonder your father left!
         So you entered school at 8
       – Proficient little Latinist you!
         In October of 1869
     Rimbaud is writing poetry
         in Greek French –
     Takes a runaway train

      to Paris without a ticket,
the miraculous Mexican Brakeman
      throws him off the fast
      train, to Heaven, which
he no longer travels because
      Heaven is everywhere –
      Nevertheless the old fags
                  intervene –
Rimbaud nonplussed Rimbaud
     trains in the green National
        Guard, proud marching
     in the dust with his heroes –
     hoping to be buggered,
   dreaming of the ultimate Girl.
– Cities are bombarded as
    he stares & stares & chews
    his degenerate lip & stares
             with gray eyes at
              Walled France –

Andre’ Gill was forerunner
             to Andre’ Gide –
Long walks reading poems
in the Genet Haystacks –
          The Voyant is born,
the deranged seer makes his
           first Manifesto,
        gives vowels colours
 & consonants carking care,
 comes under the influence
        of old French Fairies
who accuse him of constipation
        of the brain & diarrhea
                 of the mouth –
Verlaine summons him to Paris
      with less aplomb than he
               did banish girls to
                       Abyssinia –

“Merde!” screams Rimbaud
        at Verlaine salons –
Gossip in Paris  –  Verlaine Wife
        is jealous of a boy
with no seats to his trousers
– Love sends money from Brussels
          – Mother Rimbaud hates
      the importunity of Madame
Verlaine – Degenerate Arthur is suspected
      of being a poet by now –
      Screaming in the barn
Rimbaud writes Season in Hell,
      his mother trembles
Verlaine sends money & bullets
              into Rimbaud –
   Rimbaud goes to the police
     & presents his innocence
     like the pale innocence of
     his divine feminine Jesus
     – Poor Verlaine, 2 years
    in the can, but could have
    got a knife in the heart

– Illuminations! Stuttgart!
  Study of Languages!
  On foot Rimbaud walks
  & looks thru the Alpine
  passes into Italy, looking
  for clover bells, rabbits,
  Genie Kingdoms & ahead
  of his nothing but the old
    Canaletto death of sun
  on old Venetian buildings
– Rimbaud studies language
– hears of the Alleghanies,
       of Brooklyn, of last
       American Plages –

      His angel sister dies –
Vienne! He looks at pastries
      & pets old dogs! I hope!
      This mad cat joins
         the Dutch Army
         & sails for Java
     commanding the fleet
              at midnight
         on the bow, alone,
no one hears his Command
but every fishy shining in
         the sea – August is
     no time to stay in Java –
     Aiming at Egypt, he ‘s again
hungup in Italy so he goes back
     home to deep armchair
     but immediately he goes
          again, to Cyprus, to
  run a gang of quarry workers, –
what did he look like now this later
          Rimbaud? – Rock dust
          & black backs & hacks
    of coughers, the dream rises
 in the Frenchman’s Africa’s mind, –
Invalids from the tropics are always
          loved – The Red Sea
     in June, the coast clanks
         in Arabia – Harar,
Harar, the magic trading
         post – Aden, Aden,
         South of Bedouin –
     Ogaden, Ogaden, never
      known – (Meanwhile
      Verlaine sits in Paris
      over cognacs wondering
what Arthur looks like now,
& how bleak their eyebrows
      because they believed
in earlier eyebrow beauty) –
      Who cares? What kinda
Frenchmen are these? Rimbaud, hit me
      over the head with that rock!

      Serious Rimbaud composes
        elegant & learned articles
         for National Geographic
           Societies, & after wars
           commands Harari Girl
                   (Ha Ha!) back
              to Abyssinia, & she
            was young, had black
             eyes, thick lips, hair
             curled, & breasts like
             polished brown with
           copper teats & ringlets
                     on her arms &
 joined her hands upon her central loin &
         had shoulders as broad as
              Arthur’s & little ears
                       – A girl of some
              caste, in Bronzeville –

            Rimbaud also knew
     thinbonehipped Polynesians
        with long tumbling hair &
              tiny tits & big feet

                Finally he starts
              trading illegal guns
                      in Tajoura
          riding in caravans, Mad,
              with a belt of gold
              around his waist –
        Screwed by King Menelek!
              The Shah of Shoa!
       The noises of these names
                   in that noisy
                  French mind!

            Cairo for the summer,
              bitter lemon wind
         & kisses in the dusty park
                  where girls sit
                  folded at dusk
                thinking nothing –

                  Harar! Harar!
               By litter to Zeyla
            he ‘s carried moaning
            his birthday – the boat
            returns to chalk castle
            Marseilles sadder than
            time, than dream,
            sadder than water
            – Carcinoma, Rimbaud
            is eaten by the disease
            of overlife – They cut off
                  his beautiful leg –
             He dies in the arms
                  of Ste Isabelle
                       his sister
         & before rising to Heaven
                sends his francs
                 to Djami, Djami
                 the Harari boy
                 his body servant
             8 years in the African
                 Frenchman’s Hell,
                   & it all adds up
                    to nothing, like

            Dostoevsky, Beethoven
                      or Da Vinci –

          So, poets, rest awhile
                    & shut up :
             Nothing ever came
                    of nothing.

  Jack Kerouac
“Rimbaud” << City Lights >> 1960.